We buried a stone
as if it was your cold heart,
as if it was a seed
that a mountain might sprout from.
We will germinate it with a love
it understands; let it listen
to water's words, allow the vowels
of a stream to wash over it,
rounding and reforming
its sharper sides.
And when it shoots grey leaves
that thrust their foliage of rock
to the sky, we will feed it ice and clouds
and show it to the eagles.
Image from pixabay.